THE ROAD THAT LEADS HOME

If the journey’s end is but a cocoon of happiness and joy,
The road is always easy and sweet.


I like the way the leaves crush beneath my boots,
A passing reminder of a magnificent autumn,
The flowers have bloomed now,
Spring has awakened,
A frenzy of blue, violet and pink,
Against a curtain of green.

The road ahead is but a dirt path,
An army of trees on either side,
And the branches have stretched their awnings,
Alike gothic behavior,
A long, endless tunnel.

I have always loved this path,
The road that leads home,
For my mind is blithe,
And I delight in every ray of sunlight,
Caught between the netted leaves,
Every anonymous chirping of birds,
Even my own footsteps,
A perfect mélange of music.

It is what we term beauty,
For the beauty lies not on just nature’s miracles,
But in the haven it leads to,
And I will always love every blade of grass,
And every withered leaf,
That leads to it,
My humble home.